


Happiness

by hetalia_textbook



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-04 04:05:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4124977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hetalia_textbook/pseuds/hetalia_textbook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur likes to believe he's still happy, even as memories of their past continue to haunt him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happiness

Arthur was happy…

He remembered the feeling he had when he held them in his arms for the first time. They were his and his alone. Well, of course they were Francis’s as well. Their beautiful children were officially theirs. Arthur remembered nappy changes, booster seats, patty cake, and raspberries. Arthur was happy when he remembered.

He remembered birthdays, horrendously loud family gatherings, cuts and scrapes, and ice skating practice. He remembered being called Daddy and Francis being called Papa. He remembered stressful days and sleepless nights. Arthur… was happy?

Of course, he was.

He remembered yelling. He remembered tears and time outs, of apologies and ‘Forgive me’ kisses. He was happy. He remembered shouting. He remembered grounding. He remembered how cold the house felt that night and that he hadn’t known why. He remembered an open window in the children’s room and screaming his husband’s name. He remembered sprinting, then running, finding Alfred’s ducky blanket stuck on a bush’s branch, and panic. He remembered rushing water and frigid… tiny bodies. He remembered blue lips and dull, blue eyes. He remembered police, and flashing lights, tiny bodies laid before him, in his arms, and screaming until his lungs gave out. He remembered Francis, sunken to his knees, mind muddled and useless, and with delirious, tearful eyes, gazed perplexedly at the cross around his neck, as if asking, ‘Why?’.

He remembered watching Francis cut off his hair in the bathroom, shaky hands and scissors tearing at the long golden locks, as if the hair was to blame. Arthur remembered a funeral and one open casket, because their boys never wanted to be apart. He remembered tiny bodies, cold and lifeless, not dressed in their Sunday clothes, but in their night gowns. The night gowns they pleaded to where to bed every night, which ruffled around their necks and spun at their ankles when they danced, with bright red ribbons that Matthew had just learned to tie for himself and his brother, though he could not put on his own socks. At these thoughts, Arthur remembered crying and falling into his husband’s arms. He remembered watching as a young boy, with freckles and slicked back hair, placed blue forget-me-nots into the casket over Alfred, and how Francis broke like glass as he laid Matthew’s river water stained polar bear into his tiny, awaiting arms. They both remembered the blue tinted lips painted red and stringy hair preserved smooth. They didn’t look like they were sleeping. Arthur wished he hadn’t remembered.

Arthur remembered fights. He remembered dishes breaking. He remembered Francis’ trips out to strip clubs and bars and nights spent worrying.

Arthur still worries when Francis still goes out. They don’t talk about it. They never do. Arthur just smiles, because he has to… because he’s… happy.

Nearly ten years later, Arthur is nearly thirty, but clinging still to twenty-nine, looking twenty-four. Francis was nearing thirty-four, but couldn’t age to save his life. He still clung to his appearance at twenty-six. Arthur resented it, but smiled all the same.

Nearly ten years later, Arthur still remembered it all so vividly, as he folded laundry and a stray child’s sock catching his attention. He was crying and Francis saw, and he wanted to speak, but they had fought an hour before. Finally, they spoke about Arthur’s hidden thoughts that weren’t so hidden. Francis wasn’t cheating, Arthur told him he believed him, but Arthur never really did. Francis promised that he loved him and only him, and Arthur said he believed him, but Arthur never really did. Francis took him in his arms and shook him, saying that he wasn’t like that, that he loved him, that he’d show him again. This time… Arthur believed him and he smiled, the saddest smile Francis had ever seen. He let Arthur be for the time being, no matter how much he wanted to hold his weeping beloved. Francis was not happy and Arthur was grieving.

**Author's Note:**

> This really old fic was originally posted on tumblr and made a lot of people sad, so I decided to post it here. In this human AU Alfred and Matthew both drowned in the river after running away from home. Arthur and Francis are still grieving and their relationship isn't going as well as they hoped. Also, the boy at the funeral with the flowers is Davie.


End file.
